


Well Met, Hunter

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Elder Scrolls Kink Meme Fills [23]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adrenaline sex, Bondage, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Daedra, F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Skyrim Kink Meme, Smut, Werewolf Sex, vine bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thialen’s lover is a fuck to remember – yet she has no clue who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falkreath Night

The Falkreath air was cool and sweet on her face as she whipped through the grasses, her eyes on the large, galloping prey ahead. Her teeth were bared, shining in the moonlight, a dangerously sharp dagger glinting in her right hand as she moved.

Said dagger sailed through the air, hitting the animal in the back of the neck and causing it to fall. Thialen reached the corpse and began immediately to skin and harvest it, muttering to Y’ffre as she did so. She had been clumsy with that one, startling it with incorrect footing and the scattering of pebbles, but she enjoyed the burn in her lungs as she tried to calm her breathing, up the elbows in deer blood and guts. She finished up with the beast, taking the antlers, the hide, and the best cuts of meat, before putting away her dagger and finding her bow.

This time, she would be more careful, and slipped unseen past Half-Moon Mill, trailing a new, fat elk that promised a greater yield than the last. Fingers clutching tightly to the string, she paced herself, padding forward carefully. A shot ran out past her ear and the elk fled. Thialen started, seeing another hunter appear across the way from the east, a heavily-built Bosmer in a strange mask dressed in boots and a loincloth. Thialen’s teeth snapped angrily, and she hurried after her prize, watching the way he bounded towards the same elk determinedly. Bastard! This was hers, not his, and she disappeared into the woods, grasses swiping against her feet as she chased it down. It continued to flee, and Thialen watched as the other Bosmer gained on her, the elk skirting the streams of the alchemist’s camp and running down to Evergreen Grove. She nocked an arrow, and had let it fly when a huge, muscular body crashed into hers and the two of them fell into the water below.

She surfaced first, spluttering, and locked her legs around his neck under the water, trying to twist. A grip like Ebony wrapped around her thighs and tossed her away. She splashed beneath the surface and came up once more, hearing a buzz. Dripping, her bow useless and wet, she drew out her dagger and attacked the Spriggan that had come for her, cutting it down. Her opponent broke the surface and snapped in half the Matron that came for him. There was a brief pause before she spotted the slain elk and dived for it, but he caught up with her, wrapping an arm round her waist and pulling her back. She swiped her leg around his ankle and brought him down too, rolling onto him, her thighs around his waist, and was about to stab him when he bucked, securing her hips in a terrible grip and grinding against her.

Y’ffre bless her, this was a big one.

He made light work of her fine leather armour, shredding it with his big hands, and she pushed his loincloth up as he hooked one finger into the cloth over her sex, pulling it away and pushing her down. Thialen let out a cry of pleasure and pain and found herself on her back with this strange Bosmer buried inside her to the hilt, one of his hands on her neck, the other at the small of her back. The hand on her neck did not constrict and so, she realised, must be there for some show of dominance.

At least, she would have carried on thinking this, but the frenetic thrusting of his cock inside her cunt was more than her head could fathom, and instead she screamed in pleasure and wrapped herself around him, writhing and arching with his motions. He was brutal, heavy, and hotter than any man she’d ever had, strong enough to hold her entire lower body up with one large hand. He abandoned her neck to thumb her nub, and she squirmed helplessly as the pleasure increased tenfold, a slick, filthy sound filling the air along with the wet slap of their bodies.

She came first, her world filling with white as her toes curled and her muscles trembled. He pinched her skin, rubbing harder as she struggled to accommodate the pleasure, his thrusts choppy as he began to groan, the sound vibrating her body as she raked him with her nails, feeling his own bite her ass as she nipped his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He seemed to enjoy that, so she continued to apply her teeth to his skin, nails scratching him – his back, his arms, his rear – she pulled his hair, and when she came again he flipped her onto her front and pinned down her wrists, so she scratched his hands and cursed breathlessly.

The huge Bosmer seemed to punish her with his thrusts, but if this was chastisement Thialen would happily take it. His palm pinned her hands above her head as he held her up with the other hand, fingers positioned perfectly to rub her until she cried out helplessly. The next time she came, he followed, filling her with his seed, pressing her against him. She collapsed against the floor, but within seconds, he was up, hauling her to her feet and blindfolding her with her breastband. She heard something move, and then burning hot lips were pressing against her own. The movement came again, and then she was able to see again, staggering back as he let her go.

“I favour you,” he hissed, and then he disappeared into the darkness, leaving the dust-coated, wet, sweaty and dripping Bosmer confused in the Falkreath forest.

Favour?

Who in Y’ffre’s name had that been?


	2. Clueless

Hircine stalked his realm as he watched his new favourite get up, wipe herself clean, and redress in a daze. She tugged her black hair into some semblance of a braid and retrieved her bow. He licked his lips hungrily at the marks on her ass as she turned around – scratch marks of his nails, so sadly quickly covered by a ragged tunic slipping down over the toned cheeks. Her body was smeared with purple war-paint, rubbed and blended lines where there were once patterns, and he gazed at his paint-covered hands with a growl of delight. 

He loved the Bosmer – so wild, so fierce and heady. They loved to hunt as much as he did, the thrill of the chase coupling with the heat of their mortal blood, and they were small, slender, fitting perfectly in his grip as he rutted with them. This one especially. Soon, she would find a place and make an altar for him, and worship him for the blessing he had given to her.

 A few hours passed, and she did seem to be finding something, but her target was a town, and not a place to build a shrine. Indeed, she headed straight into a small tavern and spoke to another mortal woman. 

“Narri, have any Bosmer men come through Falkreath?” she was asking. 

“Not that I’ve seen, but I’m not awake all hours,” the Nord woman replied. “Why?” This woman grinned. “Have you found yourself a lover?” 

“Well, there was this elf…” 

This elf. 

She thought he was a mortal. The soft, foolish, fuckable mortal knew not who he was. This tender elf had received the blessing of Hircine and did not understand she had been seeded by a Daedric Prince. Stupid, naïve girl, did the elves of her homeland not worship him? Was his glorious name not known and spoken by Bosmer of all ages? 

Perhaps she simply had not heard the tales. 

“…And he just disappeared into the night!” he heard her finish. “I couldn’t see where he’d gone.” 

“A big man?” her friend asked. “Don’t see many Bosmer that have a body like that. I’d remember.” 

Hah! As if he’d appear to this town girl with no hunt in her soul. 

“But it was the BEST fuck,” his chosen moaned. “All big and hard and mysterious.” 

He watched the Nord woman roll in her chair, lip between her teeth, and knew that if he had been there he could have smelt her arousal, but he only had eyes for his chosen. She had a small mouth, and her lips were soft. He remembered kissing her vividly. Her eyes were golden, rimmed with thick lashes, her skin the colour of wet clay.

Beautiful. A fine choice. And yet so unknowledgeable about the Princes. His chosen would have to learn a few lessons about the Daedra if she was to remain as such. And based on how delighted she sounded, describing him to her Nord friend, it was an appointment she would likely appreciate keeping.

Hircine let the image of her fade away, and stalked through his realm. The next time she went out to hunt, she would be his prey. 


	3. Claimed

Thialen went way out west for her next hunt, hoping to avoid the strange, amorous Bosmer male. She was touching the fringes of Falkreath, bow out, steps light, when she spotted a beautiful, huge white stag up on the clifftop, across from her. She nocked an arrow, drew it back, and let it fly. It sailed into the stag’s neck with a beautiful whipping sound, and she watched the great beast fall with satisfaction. She clambered down from her vantage point and up the cliff-side opposite her, reaching the top to find the stag gone. Her heart leapt. How?

 She padded forward, confused, and in the dim light she did not see the mushroom ring beneath her until something snared her foot. She looked down to see a vine, curled around her ankle, and she reached for her knife to slash it. The blade raised, but when she tried to bring it down, her arm did not respond, and she quickly found that another vine had caught her. In seconds, both arms and legs were snared by plants, and she struggled in their hold as a great light appeared before her eyes. Out of it, to her shock, stepped the Bosmer hunter, who took her chin in his hands and seemed to be surveying her under the mask.

 “You,” she breathed.

 “You did not understand,” he said. “I am a Lord, as such I can give my favour. I have given it to you, but you did not know what that meant. I will explain to you, my chosen.”

 “What do you want?” she asked, straining on the vines.

 “You,” he replied. “I am Hircine, the Lord of the Hunt, a Prince of the Daedra, and I have picked you, mortal, as my chosen to be seeded.”

 “Hircine?” she repeated. “I’ve heard of you…”

 “Yet there was no recognition. This means little. You are my chosen. I will have you.”

 He could have clicked his fingers to remove her armour but he enjoyed the tangibility of ripping it. The leather shredded beneath his mighty touch and fell to the floor, unbuckling her gauntlets and boots, letting the vines push them off her by sliding beneath. She struggled again as he grasped her smallclothes and effortlessly pulled them apart, baring her to his gaze. The Lord of the Hunt discarded his kilt and watched her get a look at the organ she had taken yesterday. The vines brought her to her knees, and he grasped her by the back of the head, her mouth sliding open to accommodate his girth as he made her suck him.

 Which she did, and with some enthusiasm, not unskilled, though a little sloppy. She sucked and tongued him, his scent fresh-sweat and pine forests, as he massaged her ears and made her moan, vibrating around his cock as his hips began to move. Oh yes, he had chosen very well.

 Thialen found his taste intriguing. It was masculine as one could get, and the scent of him was good, hot-blooded-after-battle kind of sweat and it reminded her of yesterday, a few cold fingers of mist trailing across her lower lips and finding her wet. Oh, Y’ffre. She couldn’t help but bob her head, even without his guiding fingers, just to get more of the taste of his strange, abnormal skin. If this was his flesh, what would his seed taste like? Or would he not spill in her mouth?

 The Lord of the Hunt, it seemed, controlled his own stamina, and came not long after she’d started. It appeared he wanted to get things going, and the vines pulled her back to her feet as she swallowed the gooey mess in her throat. It tasted salty with a hint of Jazbay. She didn’t have long to ponder the flavour, as Hircine drifted his hands down her body, fingers teasing her skin, running along her breasts and skimming her muscles, finally reaching her pelvis and moving inwards. His fingers were big, and warm, and they rubbed over her nub until the elf was squirming in her restraints, panting softly. His face was covered by his deer mask, so she couldn’t see his eyes, and so she missed the growing passion in them. One thick finger slid inside her and began to pump back and forth, and the Bosmer sobbed as his thumb rubbed her nub.

 He was merciless once she had adjusted – as she opened up for him his hand’s pace picked up and soon she was shuddering in ecstasy as he slid another finger in and pleasured her. She felt sweat trickling down her arms and gathering beneath her neck, a drip sliding over her chest and down eyes stomach. He inhaled the scent of it deeply as her pleasure grew, and it was a sweet, cruel agony as it came. There was immense pressure in her core, winding tighter and tighter-

 It snapped, and she came with a cry of delight as he worked her through the orgasm. Blood rushed through her body, darkening her cheeks and raising blotches of red-bronze over her shoulders and chest. When it was over, she hung limply in her bonds, feeling Hircine’s fingers retreat slowly. They disappeared behind the mask and she heard him sucking them clean, arousal zipping through her body. Her wide, golden eyes grew wider still as he moved behind her, large hands on her soft, small rear, and she heard the rustle of cloth being removed.

 “I will take you in a purer form,” he growled, his voice deepening as he spoke, and she felt fur brushing her backside as he began to change. A snarl met her ears, and she whipped her head around to see a black, furry mass behind her and little else.

 Something hot, hard and inhuman poked at her wet lips, and Hircine pushed slowly into her, his cock parting the walls of her sex and stopping for a moment. He started to grind, making little circles with his length until the elf could not stop her gasps of delight, toes curling. Oh, Y’ffre, Y’ffre! Oh, _shit!_

 It was perhaps good luck that she wasn’t standing by her own power, because her legs were shaking as he plunged into her hard and fast, inhumanly strong, growling into her ear as he took her.  Her sweat-slick body was pressed against his, the heat from his form bleeding into her skin with each coarse rub of his wiry fur. She recalled roughly of seeing wolves mate before, but this was something completely novel. Her fingers clenched into fists, body shaking as she panted. The Lord of the Hunt licked stripes up her back, snarling loudly, irregular and hard and so, so good. She wriggled, biting down hard on her lip to stop her cries.

 “Shout for me,” he ordered. “Do not hold back.”

 He nipped her shoulder and she let out a yell, their bodies slapping together. Cool air was constantly wafting onto her calves and she realised it was from his wagging tail, fanning her and freshening the sweat that was beginning to drip down her legs as she strained, up on her toes and trying to hold herself in the vines. She didn’t know if she was trying to pull away or not, but the feeling of pleasure doubled when she tightened her thigh muscles, and she felt her legs shaking as he fucked her towards an orgasm. Hair fell into her face, sticking to her skin. She whimpered, rolling helplessly with his thrusts whilst Hircine claimed his favoured one.

 “You will release, and you will call me Lord, Hircine, and you will know what it is to be in my favour,” he told her, huge hands digging into her hips as her rear slapped against his legs, her slick sticking to his fur. She shivered, moaning as he moved his body in rough circles, tightening her grip on the vines that held her to keep herself from falling onto him. One hand moved around her body, cupping her breast, toying with the nipple, squeezing and releasing, before falling to her cleft and rubbing her nub.

 Thialen screamed his name.

 His fur was rough against the sensitive bud and it was punctuated by his tongue on her ear. The elf felt her orgasm begin in her crotch before it spread, sending tingles and heat blasting beneath her skin and forcing her mouth open. The sound that came out of it sent all prey running for miles around, and when the screaming was done she was not given mercy, reduced to desperate, intermittent cries as the Daedric Prince thrust into her ruthlessly. It was some time before he was done, and he buried himself to the hilt when he did, something huge and hot popping past her lips and inside her, sealing them together. He began to grind in slow, small movements, and she whimpered helplessly as it rubbed a swollen spot within her.

 Now that he had her sweet spot, Hircine was going to abuse it. As he waited for his knot to shrink he ground against her walls, feeling the little elf twitch and squirm on his length as blinding pleasure was forced through her system, each rub building callously building on the sensation of the last, until it was almost too much for the elf to handle. Toes curling, she clenched around him, screaming his name again, and so suffered for some time until he was finally small enough to slip from her. He retrieved his loincloth, fastening it around his hips as he looked her over. The small elf was hanging limply in her restraints, skin wet and sweaty, liquid dripping from between her thighs.

 “Build me an altar,” he ordered. “And I will come to you whenever I desire.”

 The vines let her down, placing her inside the mushroom ring, and she twitched and shone in the moonlight. Hircine gave her an approving once-over, and then he vanished back into Oblivion to watch her recover.  

 Thialen managed to get up, her legs weak and shaking, and find her pack to down a stamina potion. It took several of them for her to be ready to move again, and even then she simply dragged herself over to a nearby tree and sat down uselessly. She would have to build a shrine to Hircine if she wanted him to come back and fuck her – otherwise, he’d punish her instead.

 She thought about what he’d done to her, and flushed. It really depended on which one she wanted. Punishment, or reward?

 Thialen decided reward. 

**Author's Note:**

> So Bosmer culture is described as centering around the hunt. Hircine fits that perfectly. 
> 
> A female dragonborn from one of the more remote Valenwood tribes is hunting in Skyrim when she happens across Hircine (maybe they're after the same thing?) Violent, bloody, thoroughly satisfying sex happens. 
> 
> The only problem is that the Bosmer, not being used to daedra, assumed that her amazing fuck was another hunter.
> 
> The Lord of the Hunt, once this is realized, decides the best option is to make it explicitly clear to her she's his.


End file.
